


The First Time Phil Stayed

by AdamantSteve



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Pheels, Sleep, Sleepy Sex, Waking Up, and it wouldn't be phlint if there weren't pheels, but in a good way!, this was meant to be fluff but came out kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:03:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/pseuds/AdamantSteve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil finally stays the night. Clint is determined to make it worth his while.</p><p>PHEELS GALORE!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time Phil Stayed

**Author's Note:**

> After reading way too many angsty Phlint sad-fics, I felt it was my duty to even the balance with some funtime Phluff, which this is, but it's also kinda super Pheelsy and made my heart ache as I was writing it.
> 
> Thanks to [Dunicha](http://dunicha.tumblr.com/) who betaed this, and [InfiniteEight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight) who gave me the idea/prompt.

Clint woke with a start. It was starting to get light, and there was an arm around him. He took a deep breath and tried to remain calm, assess the situation. His instincts, honed over the years, always ready to fight or run, screamed that this was not normal, not the way he usually woke. But he stayed still, took stock of the situation. And then he remembered. Phil had _stayed_. 

 

It had been a few months since they’d started really seeing each other, seeing that they were perhaps more than just co workers, then more than just friends, then more than just friends with benefits. But Phil never stayed. And that was alright, Clint told himself. He was hardly the type to stick to such things in any case.

 

The arm around him was warm and unmoving. Clint’s breath hitched just slightly as he recalled how sweet the feeling of knowing Phil was maybe going to stay tonight was. He’d fallen asleep with him before, but never woken up with him still there. 

 

He determined to stay as still as he could, draw this precious moment out as long as possible. Phil was tucked behind him, legs veering away from his but his t-shirted chest pressed against Clint’s back. It was Clint’s shirt: one with a picture of Captain America on it that he’d pretended he’d had for ages and hadn’t bought in a thrift store imagining something akin to exactly what had happened. Phil had looked at him askance when he’d tossed it to him last night. “You might as well just stay, I know you don’t have work tomorrow.” He’d said, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate. “I didn’t think you were a fan.” Phil had said, eyes narrowed. “Oh, it’s just for sleeping in.” He hadn’t ever worn it. It had always been for Phil.

 

He could feel Phil’s gentle breaths: in and out pressing against his back. He wished he could turn and see Phil’s face. He’d only ever seen Phil sleep a small handful of times, as he more wary and alert than Clint was himself. He wanted to drink in the sight of Phil looking at peace rather than frowning at some paperwork or screw up of Tony’s or Clint’s. He’d memorised all of Phil’s faces. The way he looked when he was especially irritated was one he was sadly familiar with. The way he looked when he was about to eat his first bite of a Krispy Kreme donut was one of his favourites and the reason he was on first name terms with Raoul at the drive-thru on the way to base. The way he looked when he was on the edge of orgasm was one that Clint could never see enough of, helpless and thankful all at once. He remembered Phil’s face from last night when he’d agreed to stay over, it was a new one, hopeful still but with an edge of trepidation. 

 

Phil shifted behind him, slightly, the arm moving but not moving away. Clint wanted to grab Phil’s hand, hold on so he wouldn’t leave, maybe hold on forever, but he knew that even this was a victory. Having Phil Coulson sleeping behind him made him feel like he’d won something. And he had. He’d won this. It was a prize in and of itself. 

 

He closed his eyes to savour that weight behind him, imprint it on his memory for the times when he wasn’t there. Soak it all in as much as he could before it was over. He fought against it but drifted back into a contented sleep, sleeping harder than he might otherwise, safe with Coulson at his back.

 

\--

 

Phil woke up to a familiar smell, one that he often thought about while he went to sleep, but wasn’t something he had ever woken up to. Clint Barton. He opened his eyes slowly, dark blonde hair on the pillow in front of him, a warm body beneath his arm. His chest pressed to Clint’s back, and he tempered his breathing so as not to let him know he’d woken up. 

 

He’d not meant to stay. But Clint had thrown him a shirt which could only have been bought for him, and Phil had given in. Even now he couldn’t help panic at just how far he’d fallen, how once Clint moved on it’d be just that much harder to get over it and be alright again. But Phil was gone. So gone over this kid that he’d started not to even care anymore. When it all went down the pan like these things inevitably did, he’d just have to live with it. He was the proverbial moth and Clint was the proverbial flame, and now he’d _stayed,_ and he was stuck in the wax. 

 

His arm involuntarily pulled Clint the tiniest bit closer, Phil breathing in the smell of Clint’s hair, trying to suck in as much of this moment as he could before Clint was up and the spell was broken. Even these last few months felt like borrowed time, as if Phil was the one who’d put Clint under a spell and it would only take something to knock him on the head and Clint would realise he’d made a mistake. It was terrifying. 

 

But he pushed those thoughts out of his mind and let himself enjoy the moment, drink in the solid mass of his best agent next to him, letting him drape his arm over him as if it was no big deal. Phil moved his leg to fit more snugly against Clint’s, even if he was already too warm to really be comfortable. Let himself rub a toe over Clint’s bare ankle, skin on skin and never enough. Too much at the same time. 

 

Clint sighed in his sleep, a happy noise which Phil smiled at easily. It was all far too easy, really. Too easy to fall in love. Too hard to pretend he hadn’t. 

 

And it was love, he decided. Ruinous consequences aside, he was in love with this man, this man who had somehow decided Phil of all people was who he wanted to watch trashy TV with, cook for, spend the night with. Even if it wasn’t for forever, who was Phil to say no to that? 

 

He pulled Clint closer still, a dangerous move on someone with his skill set, but for once not minding so much that he’d wake up. He’d snuck away in the night before, avoiding just this: waking up and Clint seeing him in the cold morning light, the soft warmth of beers and takeout and awful TV not having rubbed Phil’s edges away yet. In the morning he was just a middle-aged man who worked in an office. Best to let Clint see who he really was and get it over with, see the look of realisation and disappointment or whatever it would be. Get it over with.

 

But Clint murmured, shifted, moved to catch Phil’s leg between his. He turned his head awkwardly to face Phil’s, blue eyes just visible through sleepy lids. He smiled lazily. “You stayed.” The smile broadened, like Phil’s bleary pre-coffee unshaven face was exactly what he wanted to see. 

 

Clint let Phil’s leg free and shifted so he was facing Phil completely, bringing his own arm around him and pulling him in, tucking his head under Phil’s chin. He was warm and soft beneath Phil’s fingers, which had somehow found their way onto the skin at Clint’s waist where his shirt had lifted in the night. He gently rubbed tiny circles with his thumb there, wondering if Clint would fall back to sleep and let him bask in the honey glow of this moment a little longer.

 

Phil’s arm threatened to fall asleep in this new angle, trapped beneath Clint as it was. But he held out, didn’t want to wake Clint up enough that he’d change from this vulnerable, pliable state. Phil moved his hand to brush through Clint’s hair, ring the shell of his ear. Clint shifted his legs to trap one of Phil’s again, mumbling something into his chest that Phil couldn’t make out. He was hard against Phil’s thigh, but with no great urgency, just morning wood. Phil was too, between the small hollow between them and Clint shifted again, more purposeful this time, brushing up against it, evidently less asleep than Phil had thought.

 

\--

 

Clint tried to stay still but couldn’t. He was restless, excited that Phil had stayed and feeling like a giddy teenager for it. He was determined to make sure Phil knew that sleeping over had it’s benefits, using the guise of being half asleep to squirm and wriggle his way closer to Phil and brush up against the cock that he was most pleased to find hard between them. 

 

He lazily slithered further down Phil to push up that shirt, the one _he’d_ given him, to plant lazy kisses on his warm belly. He worked a hand between Phil’s thighs just to rest it there to anchor himself, kissing further down until he reached the elastic waistband of Phil’s grey boxers. Phil just rested a hand on Clint’s neck, turning easily onto his back when Clint pushed him there, pliant and warm, nothing like how he was in a suit. Clint had him at last, the soft, freshly-baked version of Phil before his coffee and suit had starched him into Agent Coulson. He’d had glimpses of this version of him before, when he was tired and happy and full of food, when he was reading or watching TV, but not like this.

 

Clint pulled down Phil’s pants gently, not wanting to nudge him too far into wakefulness or else risk him Coulson-ising beneath his fingertips. This Phil; pliantly moving when Clint pushed at his thighs to kiss the warm flesh between them; that let out a soft sigh when Clint brushed his cheek against his balls; who’s cock was almost lazily hard compared to the popped-vein bright red urgent one of his more awake self. This Phil seemed happy to take what Clint had to give without argument or concern or protocol, and it was this Phil that Clint liked the most.

 

Clint let his eyes flicker up to Phil’s face and was both scared and relieved that he was watching him through sleepy lids. Relieved because he wanted Phil to see and perhaps associate staying over with Clint’s excellent blowjobs, but scared because it wouldn’t be long before Phil woke up properly and checked his phone or rushed into the shower or did whatever else it was that he did a mile-a-minute when he was awake. Clint bit his lips before almost chastely licking the very tip of Phil’s cock with the very tip of his tongue, watching Phil’s face. Phil looked helpless, closed his eyes and sighed, let his head fall back into the pillow. Clint kept looking up at Phil as he began to wetly mouth at the head of Phil’s cock, though he couldn’t make out much more than Phil’s jaw and his chest rising and falling as his breath quickened. 

 

\--

 

With Clint’s mouth on his dick, Phil’s mind shortwired. Half-thoughts of where his phone was and what he would need to do today gone, vanished and forgotten. His mind drifted like a dandelion seed on the wind, colours and patterns floated behind his eyelids as Clint gently took him into his mouth and sucked, his fingertips running patterns over his skin that felt like tiny electric shocks. He was sure if he opened his eyes and watched he’d be able to see them, lighting up his skin beneath Clint’s touch.

 

He let out all sorts of sounds, less guarded than he might normally be, his mind in some other place where all of this was just simple and perfect and clean. Let himself give over to the sensations without his brain getting in the way. His eyes rolled back in his head beneath closed lids, the bright neon lights scattering and re-forming as his body, unbidden, began to rock up into that hot eager mouth. And it was Clint’s mouth, _Clint Barton_ who was doing this to him, making his mind explode into a kaleidoscope of colours as he fell to pieces completely. 

 

Electric blue and magenta sparks shot behind Phil’s lids as he came, hands fisted into the sheets and mouth dry, a ruined groan coming from his throat. The warmth - Clint - kept moving, gentler now until he stopped and pulled off to plant kisses along Phil’s thighs and across his lower belly. He was murmuring something again but Phil had no idea what it was, wouldn’t be able to even recite his SHIELD ID number if he’d been asked, and that was as good as tattooed on his brain. 

 

Clint kissed his way up Phil’s body, across that pink scar without pause and up, pulling Phil’s shirt back down and kissing his neck and then Phil’s rough chin before finally, _finally_ , getting to Phil’s mouth. Phil hadn’t moved, his eyes still closed, as if his mind might implode from any more of his senses being put to use, and Clint kissed him, slowly and gently, a little more once Phil kissed back, more still once Phil tasted himself on Clint’s tongue. 

 

\--

 

“You stayed.” Clint whispered after kissing his way around to Phil’s ear. “You stayed.” He said again as he trailed more kisses back to his chin and down his neck. Phil was still, not moving and Clint was scared he’d freaked him out or something. He kept kissing, down Phil’s arm to his wrist, holding his hand as he kissed his palm. Phil seemed to come-to at that, cupping Clint’s cheek and finally opening his eyes. And this was a new look. This was a soft look. Happy. Fond. Relaxed. Clint searched for a sign of any of the flavours usually in Phil’s looks, stress or distraction, trepidation, determination... and found none. This was it. An unadulterated happy Phil, and Clint felt inordinately glad to have had even some part of putting that look on his face. He kissed him again, urgently, in case that look vanished all too soon, but it stayed. Even if Clint wasn’t sure what it meant, whether it meant Phil would stay again or this was it, he’d take it. 

 

\--

 

That wasn't the last time Phil stayed over.


End file.
